BEGW C106

Chapter 106

…Did Ying Changchuan think I wouldn’t dare?

Jiang Yuxun had meant to refuse. Yet when he met the other man’s expression, his fingers tightened around the brush almost against his will.

Unlike Jiang Yuxun’s slightly pale, slender wrist, Ying Changchuan’s forearm—tempered by day after day of campaigning—had been darkened by the sun into a light honeyed bronze. The muscles honed through daily riding, archery, and blade practice were full and powerful.

Jiang Yuxun even began to suspect that he was using “drawing” as an excuse—just to make him look.

…So what should I draw?

For no apparent reason, the character “早” (early / morning) popped into his head. The next instant, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

What on earth was that supposed to be?!

“Ha—aren’t you afraid I’ll just scribble nonsense?” Ink splashed from the gui brush onto his sleeve as he moved.

In just a moment, he was laughing so hard that a faint sheen of tears appeared in his eyes.

No one had ever laughed so freely in Ying Changchuan’s presence.

The spark in Jiang Yuxun’s eyes seemed, at that very moment, to ignite something deep in Ying Changchuan’s heart as well.

Ordinarily, Ying Changchuan could hardly be called a model of strict self-restraint—but as someone born into a noble house and raised under severe discipline, his conduct had always been governed by elegance.

More importantly, he bore the supreme identity of Son of Heaven.

Every word and gesture he made carried an air of lofty composure. He himself never lost decorum—and if a court official ever dared laugh like this before him, Ying Changchuan would, nine times out of ten, punish them for “impropriety before the throne.”

Laughing until he bent forward, Jiang Yuxun subconsciously placed a hand on Ying Changchuan’s wrist. The other man, in turn, gently steadied him.

Just as Jiang Yuxun was trying to suppress his laughter while repeating “It’s nothing, really,” Ying Changchuan suddenly stepped forward, placed a hand at his waist—and then, like a childish prankster, tentatively tickled him there.

—In truth, Ying Changchuan had never even done such a thing as a child.

He had long discovered that Jiang Yuxun’s waist was especially ticklish.

Even an accidental brush there was enough to make Jiang Yuxun’s entire body jolt.

Sure enough, the moment Ying Changchuan moved, Jiang Yuxun shuddered violently and stumbled back.

“…Ah!”

Ying Changchuan, however, seemed to have discovered the fun of tickling and had no intention of letting him go.

“Fine. Write whatever you like, then.”

He dropped his gaze to the brush in Jiang Yuxun’s hand and feigned confusion.

“Why aren’t you writing anymore?”

“Let go—haha! Let go!” Jiang Yuxun laughed helplessly as he dodged. “Let go! If you let go, I’ll write!”

He didn’t notice that the ink from the gui brush had already splattered across both their robes.

Even his face bore a few ink dots now—one near the corner of his eye, like a small beauty mark.

“Let go,” Jiang Yuxun gasped as Ying Changchuan backed him into the wall, his breathing completely unsteady now. “Ying Changchuan—let go!”

But today, Ying Changchuan clearly had no intention of letting him off so easily.

Only when Jiang Yuxun’s cries of “let go” had unknowingly turned into “mercy,” and “Ying Changchuan” had reverted back to “Your Majesty,” did the emperor—childish to the extreme—finally stop, allowing the breathless Jiang Yuxun to slump against his shoulder.

“Was it fun, Your Majesty?” Jiang Yuxun gritted his teeth as he imitated Ying Changchuan’s earlier action, pressing a hand to his waist and giving him a sharp tickle.

…Nothing happened.

Unlike Jiang Yuxun, who was ticklish everywhere, Ying Changchuan didn’t react at all.

—Aside from Jiang Yuxun’s fingers bumping against firm muscle, nothing happened.

That was outrageously unfair.

Having thoroughly taken advantage, Ying Changchuan clasped Jiang Yuxun’s hand against his own waist and lowered his head, murmuring with satisfaction by his ear,

“Indeed. Very fun.”

Jiang Yuxun: “……”

So this was what it felt like to punch cotton.

The tip of the gui brush was extremely fine and couldn’t hold much ink to begin with. After a few wild motions, it was nearly dry.

Catching sight of the honeysuckle motif on his own wrist and recalling what Ying Changchuan had said earlier, Jiang Yuxun finally lifted the brush and wrote his own name directly on Ying Changchuan’s wrist.

If it’s just leaving a mark—then I can do that too.

Still trembling slightly, Jiang Yuxun’s writing came out crooked and uneven.

Every stroke landing on Ying Changchuan’s wrist looked absurdly amusing.

Satisfied with his revenge, Jiang Yuxun finally let out a breath.

He lifted the brush-holding hand and patted Ying Changchuan’s shoulder with the other.

“Alright. Where’s the water?”

“What do you need water for?” Ying Changchuan asked innocently.

“To wash it off, obviously.” Jiang Yuxun raised his wrist to show him the marks.

Yet at that very moment, Ying Changchuan reached up and lightly pinched Jiang Yuxun’s earlobe, saying quite matter-of-factly,

“But there’s no water in this courtyard. What should we do?”

N-no water?

Only then did Jiang Yuxun realize—this small courtyard from Ying Changchuan’s childhood truly didn’t have a well.

Of course. What noble family would ever dig something as dangerous as a well in a child’s residence?

…This was bad.

Jiang Yuxun slowly shifted his gaze to Ying Changchuan’s wrist.

The honeysuckle on my wrist is one thing—but written on his is “Jiang Yuxun.”

The Mi family ancestral residence was usually uninhabited, with only a handful of servants.

Jiang Yuxun waited at the gate for ages, hoping to stop someone passing by with water—but no one came.

By the time the family banquet began, the markings on both their wrists were still perfectly intact.

To prevent Princess Lianyi from noticing the outrageous marks, Jiang Yuxun not only had to mind himself—but also keep a constant watch on Ying Changchuan.

The sky gradually darkened. A full moon rose in the east and fell into the wine cups.

Ying Changchuan lifted a jade wine jug—but before he could pour, Jiang Yuxun suddenly snatched it away, smiling stiffly.

“Too much drinking isn’t good, Your Majesty. Perhaps you should stop.”

Ying Changchuan lowered his eyes with a smile, utterly cooperative.

“I’ll listen to Lord Jiang.”

To Princess Lianyi—unaware of what had transpired earlier—this scene looked exactly like open displays of affection.

Having been away for many years and still thinking of Ying Changchuan as the child he once was, she couldn’t help smiling, occasionally teasing them as she reflected on their relationship.

Before they realized it, night had fully fallen.

Princess Lianyi, who had been chatting and laughing with them, grew quieter after a few cups of wine.

Jiang Yuxun softly asked, “Is something troubling you, Your Highness?”

She set down her cup and smiled faintly.

“It’s not quite a ‘trouble’… just a feeling. When I left home, this residence was lively and bustling. Now, it seems only I remain.”

She had to admit that the best years of her life had been spent in Zherou.

The northern sands, the grasslands, horses and bows—these had long been branded into her heart.

After more than twenty years away from Zhaodu, she found herself strangely unaccustomed to life here.

Ancient people might not have had words for this hollow sense of loss.

But Jiang Yuxun—who had once spoken with rehired retirees in museums—understood her feeling all too well.

…Some people were simply born unable to stay still.

After a brief pause, Jiang Yuxun exchanged a glance with Ying Changchuan, then said softly,

“…Now the northern lands all belong to Great Zhou.”

Princess Lianyi nodded. “Yes.”

Moonlight touched the corner of her eyes, revealing fine lines that daylight concealed.

At some point, Ying Changchuan had set down his cup and turned his gaze to Jiang Yuxun.

Under the bright moon, his eyes shone.

Jiang Yuxun thought carefully before speaking:

“Although Great Zhou has maps of the north, they’re incomplete and lack detail. We also lack understanding of the region’s customs and geography. Your Highness lived there for over twenty years—you know it better than anyone. In my view, if Your Highness is interested, you could compile a book recording these things.”

Princess Lianyi’s eyes immediately lit up.

“Lord Jiang’s suggestion is interesting… And besides customs, isn’t the north’s past history something Great Zhou also knows very little about?”

She, however, knew it well.

“Exactly,” Jiang Yuxun said, inspired. “Although Great Zhou’s official language is being promoted in the north, it would be a shame for the old languages to disappear entirely. If Your Highness is willing, you could also compile a comparative text of the two languages—and even… if I recall correctly, Zherou preserved many Western Region classics?”

Princess Lianyi nodded.

“States like Qiaoluo often sent such texts, though Zherou never paid them much mind.”

Zherou’s rise had only occurred within the last century or so. Though it had its own spoken language, it had never developed a complete writing system.

The Western Region states were different—Qiaoluo foremost among them. Not only did they possess their own scripts, but also many classical texts.

Sadly, over centuries of upheaval, these works failed to reach later generations intact.

Modern archaeology had uncovered many texts written in Qiaoluo script—yet because the language had been lost, researchers could not decipher them.

Princess Lianyi drained her cup in one go.

“When you put it that way, Lord Jiang, I suddenly feel that I still have things I can do.”

She raised her cup toward him with a smile.

Seeing her genuine interest, Jiang Yuxun felt delighted as well.

He immediately lifted his own cup and toasted her.

“If Your Highness needs anything, you may directly petition His Majesty. I believe he will do his utmost to assist.”

With that, Jiang Yuxun tipped his head back and drank the strong liquor in one gulp.

Summer garments were thin—his wide sleeve slipped down with the motion.

Tonight was a full moon.

Moonlight illuminated Jiang Yuxun’s face—and also the honeysuckle motif on his wrist.

He wasn’t particularly good with alcohol; one swallow made him cough twice.

Because of that, he missed Princess Lianyi’s sudden frown—and the brief disappearance of her smile.

…What is that on Lord Jiang’s wrist?

When Jiang Yuxun straightened again, Princess Lianyi had already resumed her usual expression, using the act of pouring wine to conceal the moment.

“I have several people at my side who are fluent in both languages. In a few days I can ask if they’d like to work with me… As for the location, I think this estate would be perfect.”

As she spoke, she glanced around.

The Mi ancestral residence was largely uninhabited now.

Rather than letting it sit empty, it would be better to give it new life.

Jiang Yuxun nodded in agreement. “Your Highness is absolutely right.”

Those with Mi blood seemed to possess a naturally strong tolerance for alcohol.

Princess Lianyi drank another cup and began to envision the future.

“To be honest, after all these years away, I’ve grown used to riding across the grasslands now and then. Compared to staying in Zhaodu compiling books, I’d rather take advantage of my remaining strength to ride again—to Zherou and the Western Regions.”

Ying Changchuan, who had been silent, smiled and spoke up.

“If that is Your Highness’s wish, I can assign escorts to accompany you.”

She smiled and rose to bow.

“Then I thank Your Majesty in advance.”

Moonlight filtered through the locust leaves, falling upon the lake.

The night wind stirred the branches with a soft rustle.

Though there were no court musicians, this small family banquet of only three people was anything but cold.

They talked back and forth for over an hour.

It was already quite late.

Instead of returning to Xianyou Palace, the emperor chose to stay the night here.

Just as Jiang Yuxun was about to follow Ying Changchuan back to the courtyard, Princess Lianyi suddenly called him aside, citing “a matter to discuss.”

A freshly lacquered pillar happened to block Ying Changchuan’s view.

“Is there something else, Your Highness?” Jiang Yuxun asked curiously once behind the pillar.

…Strange. What could it be that she had to say away from Ying Changchuan?

Having lived in the northern lands for over twenty years, Princess Lianyi was usually quite unrestrained and informal. Yet at this moment, an expression rarely seen on her face appeared—something called “awkwardness.”

After a few seconds’ pause, she looked solemnly at Jiang Yuxun.

“Although His Majesty is the Son of Heaven, the relationship between you two is no longer limited to ruler and subject. If… His Majesty ever goes too far in anything, Lord Jiang must not indulge him unconditionally.”

“Hm?”

How had Ying Changchuan gone too far?

Seeing Jiang Yuxun blink in confusion, Princess Lianyi lowered her voice and continued earnestly,

“I may not have much influence in Zhaodu, but no matter what, I am still His Majesty’s aunt. If… something improper happens, and Lord Jiang finds himself in a difficult position, you may tell me. I can speak to His Majesty on your behalf.”

Jiang Yuxun subconsciously thought of Ying Changchuan tickling him earlier in the room and felt a flash of guilt.

But then he immediately realized—there had only been the two of them in that courtyard. Princess Lianyi couldn’t possibly know what had happened.

Just then, Ying Changchuan—who had already walked beneath the trees—suddenly stopped and turned to look in their direction.

Aware that she shouldn’t keep Jiang Yuxun too long, Princess Lianyi smiled toward him and said,

“Lord Jiang, you should go now. His Majesty is still waiting for you.”

Then, under the moonlight, she lightly coughed twice and pointed at her own wrist.

As she finished speaking, she turned and left.

…Strange.

What was Princess Lianyi acting like tonight?

Moonlight illuminated heaven and earth alike. Jiang Yuxun could clearly see that there was nothing at all on her wrist.

Having drunk a little too much, he watched her leave—then couldn’t help lowering his gaze to his own wrist.

The next instant, realization struck him like lightning.

The honeysuckle motif Ying Changchuan had drawn was still clearly visible on his wrist!

Princess Lianyi had seen it.

Though she hadn’t returned to Zhaodu in over twenty years and didn’t know the current Ying Changchuan well, she knew better than anyone what his childhood “habit” had been.

Recalling Ying Changchuan’s earlier words, Jiang Yuxun immediately understood—

Princess Lianyi had definitely misunderstood something.

Embarrassed, Jiang Yuxun clenched his hand.

Meanwhile, Ying Changchuan—standing beneath a tree not far away—smiled and nodded at him.

…He was practically demonstrating, through his actions alone, what it meant to “not care in the slightest about others’ opinions or conjectures.”

Not long after Jiang Yuxun and Ying Changchuan returned to Xianyou Palace, the examination papers jointly compiled by the officials were finally finalized and sealed with wax, stored within the palace.

Since this was the first imperial examination, the court announced portions of the exam scope—such as current affairs and geography—three full months in advance, using academies spread throughout Great Zhou.

Although only a small number of people registered for the exam that year, the entire nation devoted one hundred percent of its attention to it.

Anyone who could read joined the excitement.

For a time, the streets and alleys of Great Zhou were filled with discussions of major events from recent years and the customs of various regions.

Those matters of the “court”—once unimaginably distant—and counties people might never visit in their lives suddenly felt close at hand.

The common people had never been so clearly aware of their identity as “people of Zhou.”

After the End of Heat, Zhaodu’s weather gradually cooled.

Not long after the examination papers were finalized, Yuyang Palace, which had stood empty for three to four years, finally resumed construction.

This was no small matter for the court.

Before heading to Yanxian Island for a “vacation,” Ying Changchuan returned to Zhaodu with his entourage.

Architecture—especially ancient architecture—was a field filled with knowledge.

In his previous life, Jiang Yuxun had always regretted not having studied it systematically.

This time, back at Yuyang Palace, he finally listened to the craftsmen with great enthusiasm and even invited them to answer several questions he had been curious about since his last life.

Once the topic turned professional, Jiang Yuxun inadvertently forgot Ying Changchuan altogether.

By the time he realized it, the craftsman guiding them had already been dismissed by the emperor.

The vast Lanchi Hall was left with only the two of them.

Yuyang Palace wasn’t uninhabitable because it had collapsed—but because it flooded badly whenever it rained.

Although the emperor and his officials had moved to Xianyou Palace over the past few years, a number of palace maids and eunuchs had been left behind to maintain the complex.

It hadn’t rained recently, and at a glance, the luxurious halls looked no different from how they had three or four years ago.

Holding Jiang Yuxun’s hand, Ying Changchuan led him into Lanchi Hall and asked softly by his ear,

“Does my beloved minister still remember this hall?”

“…Of course I remember,” Jiang Yuxun ground out through clenched teeth.

“This is where Your Majesty sent me to the imperial prison back then.”

He doubted he’d ever forget this cursed place.

A summer breeze swept through the hall, gently stirring the gauze curtains hanging from the beams.

Suddenly, Ying Changchuan used the wind as cover to lift Jiang Yuxun up and carry him toward the highest seat.

The moment Jiang Yuxun saw what lay ahead, he grabbed Ying Changchuan’s collar.

“Your Majesty—put this minister down at once!”

In this era, there were no chairs.

The emperor did not sit on a “dragon throne,” but on a Five-Layered Seat embroidered with dragon motifs.

Lanchi Hall was the largest structure in all of Yuyang Palace.

Its Five-Layered Seat was also the highest-ranked seat in the entire palace.

Though Jiang Yuxun had long since grown accustomed to being informal with Ying Changchuan, being carried and seated on the equivalent of the dragon throne was entirely unprecedented.

Ying Changchuan shook his head. Not only did he show no intention of putting him down, he lowered his head and kissed Jiang Yuxun’s forehead.

“Did my beloved minister ever imagine a day like this would come?”

“…Never,” Jiang Yuxun answered honestly.

If someone back then had told him he would one day be with Ying Changchuan, he would’ve thought them delirious.

The more he thought about it, the more miraculous it felt.

…How did things even end up like this?

A few days ago, Ying Changchuan had interrogated him about what he liked about him.

Now Jiang Yuxun suddenly grew curious—when had Ying Changchuan first become interested in him?

He wasn’t good at hiding his emotions. As he thought, he couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Ying Changchuan.

“Does my beloved minister have something he wishes to ask?”

The emperor saw through him at a glance.

“There is something,” Jiang Yuxun said, turning to him curiously.

“I suddenly wondered—when exactly did Your Majesty become interested in me?”

If his memory served him right, he had never held back on arguing with Ying Changchuan in the beginning.

And the emperor certainly had nothing to do with the word “magnanimous.”

Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze slowly, seemingly deep in thought.

As his fingers gently brushed Jiang Yuxun’s lashes, he murmured,

“Why doesn’t my beloved minister guess?”

“…How would I know?” Jiang Yuxun complained, though he still followed the prompt.

“It wasn’t when we lived together on the boat, was it?”

Ying Changchuan shook his head. “No.”

Too many things had happened over the years.

Jiang Yuxun’s life had been packed with work, and more importantly—he and Ying Changchuan saw each other almost every day.

Years of shared moments flooded his mind at once, until he could no longer tell which came first.

He thought of the rolling yellow sands, and how Ying Changchuan had gone out late at night to search for him in the desert.

Tentatively, Jiang Yuxun asked,

“Then… was it in the northern lands? The time we encountered the sandstorm?”

Ying Changchuan shook his head again. “No.”

At that point, he hadn’t merely been interested in Jiang Yuxun—

he had already, silently, placed him in his heart.

“Then maybe during that New Year, when Your Majesty had me move into Flowing Clouds Hall?”

“Also no.”

Seeing that he was wrong again, Jiang Yuxun gave up entirely and asked in one breath,

“Then it can’t have been when I was taken away by Lingtian Terrace—or the time I got drunk, right?”

Mentioning that incident inevitably made him think of the abacus beads scattered across the floor.

And of himself, drunk, making foolish wishes to Ying Changchuan.

Ying Changchuan didn’t answer. Instead, he lowered his head and kissed Jiang Yuxun’s forehead.

For some reason, Jiang Yuxun suddenly understood.

The emperor had indeed become interested in him during that period.

“…Heavens.”

That was even earlier than Jiang Yuxun had expected.

Although he’d asked about “interest,” not “liking,”

If he wasn’t mistaken, he had only been seventeen at the time.

Ying Changchuan seemed not to expect Jiang Yuxun to hesitate here.

He looked down at the man in his arms. “What is it?”

To people of this era, seventeen was hardly young—many were already married and established by then.

Jiang Yuxun didn’t want to overreact, but since Ying Changchuan asked…

He could only look at him seriously, helpless and painfully inexperienced, and say with difficulty,

“But… I was only seventeen then.”

Moonlight settled at the bottom of Jiang Yuxun’s eyes, making them extraordinarily clear.

Ying Changchuan frowned slightly.

“…Yes.”

For reasons unknown, the usually thick-skinned emperor’s fingers stiffened, just this once.

 

• 「五重席」 (Five-Layered Seat)

  Not a chair, but a tiered ceremonial seating platform.

  🔥 Being carried onto it is far more intimate than sitting on a later “dragon throne.”

• 「圭笔」 (gui brush)

  A very fine brush traditionally used for outlining and tracing, not bold calligraphy—perfect for teasingly “branding” someone.

• 「忍冬纹」 (honeysuckle motif)

  Symbolizes endurance, continuity, and possessiveness.

  👉 When Ying Changchuan draws it on Jiang Yuxun—and later lets Jiang Yuxun write his name back—it becomes a mutual mark, not one-sided ownership.